Impressions
by Kiyashire
Summary: It was just one of those no-name businesses, the ones your eyes skipped past without even thinking. And really, the only reason Roxas went inside was because his alternative was standing in the middle of a storm. Of course the person on the other side of the door was a guy with facial tattoos and a talent for innuendos. Of course. AkuRoku, for Nijuuni/Nijuukoo.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kingdom Hearts, because if I did you would be able to hear my cheers around the globe. Neither do I own Pleasure, I just like to sit down and stare at it with wonder.

**Warnings:** Fair amount of swearing, dialogue laced with innuendos and my lack of care for censoring them.

This is my first proper fic, I believe, and it started out as a drabble but here we are now, over ten thousand words later, no regrets. For the amazing Nijuuni/Nijuukoo's artwork for AkuRoku month day 19, Pleasure. (Please look at it and all of her other art, seriously. The amount of inspiration I get from her work is unbelievable.)

* * *

**Impressions**

It really was one of those places you could walk by without even noticing.

These days, it seemed that they were more popular than ever—which was some breed of contradiction, but true nonetheless—little nondescript stores scattered in the clusters lining the roads. They all had a one- or two-word sign above the door, usually red and faded and as enticing as an old bumper sticker, that cut the flowery act and just said what they were. _Chinese. Pharmacy. Dentist._

The problem was, most people _liked_ their flowery act, their brand name chains; which was exactly why it took nothing less than a storm to drive Roxas into a building that didn't have the security of _Target_ plastered all over the front.

It's amazing how good lightning could be for business.

Really, the only choices were to either duck into a store he'd never been in before to wait it out, or stand around asking to get struck, and he figured he'd have an easier time fending off shady businessmen than 100 million volts of electricity.

The doorbell gave a cheery little chime as Roxas all but rammed it open, and he stood panting for a minute, blinking in the sudden brightness and _dry_ness. A handful of plastic chairs sat against the walls on either side of him, magazines depicting women with space-age haircuts set on some of the seats, and beyond them was a small collection of stools and mirrors. Blow dryers and piles of scissors and combs littered the counter in front of each set. The whole atmosphere was just creamy light and warm air and everything in stark contrast to the roaring blackness outside.

Hair salon. Okay. He could work with that.

It occurred to him, after a bit of gawking at the fact that this was actually a pretty nice place, that his clothes were dripping all over the floor. Hopefully the setup matched the owner's forgiving personality and not just a paragraph in some business how-to book.

"Not exactly the best weather to be getting a trim in."

Roxas's head snapped toward the back of the room, where the voice echoed around a corner, genuine confusion and distinctly male. A brief scuffing followed before a figure leaned into view.

Roxas wasn't quite sure just what he had expected—someone old enough to be a father, maybe, someone who either worked with his spouse or inherited this place, because seriously, what kind of man actually put his money into opening up a _salon_? But this was not what he would have pictured. Not a scrawny guy in his early twenties, had to be, no way he was older than that; not a guy with absurdly bright red hair disheveled and chaotic, splaying out in almost every direction; certainly _not_ a guy whose ears shone from all the metal in them, some guy who apparently had the habit of bringing that red from his hair down into the _liner around his eyes._

He had to be a squatter. Or a recently escaped convict seeking shelter.

"I was just trying to get out of the rain," Roxas muttered, tensing up a bit as the guy rounded the corner and came to slouch over the front desk. God, he had tattoos on his _face_.

"Yeah, that sounds more like it." His eyes, standing out neon green against the red, flicked over Roxas, taking in the mess of blond hair clinging to his face and the puddle forming under his shoes.

Roxas stood the inspection for a few moments before fidgeting. And even when he started plucking at his sleeves, the man kept his eyes roaming. "Look," he started, irritated, "do you work here?"

"I thought you were just looking for some shelter?"

"No, I—I am. I just wanted to see if it was okay if I waited in here for the rain to lighten up."

The guy did another once-over before he pushed away from the desk. "Sure," he replied, waving a hand and falling back into one of the salon chairs. "Just try to keep the water damage to a minimum, 'kay?"

Roxas grimaced and took a seat as close to the door as possible, shrugging out of his sodden jacket.

He intended to be quiet for ten, fifteen minutes or so, just listening to the rush through the glass and _not _paying attention to the eyeliner-wearing worker who was raising far too many red flags in Roxas's mind. The prayer for this to be a short storm was practically coursing through his veins.

"So what were you doing out in all that, anyway?"

Of _course_ he was a talker.

"I was going home," he answered at length, because maybe he would walk out alive if he kept this guy happy. "From school."

"And you didn't have a bus, or a ride? Sounds like a great place you go to." The man snorted a laugh.

"My family doesn't get home until late, it's easier to walk."

"Could've just stuck your thumb out, I'm sure someone would've pulled over. Kid like you'd get picked up real fast."

Roxas gripped the edge of his chair and peeled his lip back from his teeth. "Look," he growled, "if you want me to leave, just tell me. I don't want to be any trouble."

That earned him a smirk. "And what are gonna do then, kid? Run home in the rain?"

A retort stuck in his throat, because Roxas knew there was no way he was going to get pneumonia just so he could shove his rebellion in this guy's face, no matter how much he wanted to. And the redhead obviously knew he'd won, because the smirk had graduated to a full-blown grin. "Look, kid—"

"Roxas. If you're gonna be smug about it, at least use my name."

The man's face softened into a more genuine smile. "Roxas," he drawled, testing the sounds on his tongue, before lifting his chin in a nod. "Name's Axel."

Lightning illuminated the glass, accompanied by a sudden cracking, and that should have been some sort of paranormal warning, must have been—but Roxas really had to admit the name matched the glinting piercings, the shock of hair, the black diamond tattoos streaking down his cheeks. It sounded about right. It…suited him.

He could hear Axel laughing after the thunder died off, eyes peering over from his raised chair, and Roxas winced when he realized that last bit might have slipped out. Shit.

"I think I like you." Axel grinned, stretched his arms above his head until there was an audible crack, and started toward the back of the salon. Waving an arm toward one of the mirror countertops—"Feel free to blow yourself off."

The smirk in his tone made Roxas want to scream.

* * *

"Are you _allowed_ to do that?"

Axel glanced up and huffed, drawing the lighter away and letting a puff of smoke swirl above his face. The red-orange light made the angles of his face glow in the dark, like some kind of campfire throwing up flames around him.

Apparently this guy _was_ haunted, because it hadn't even taken five minutes after exchanging names for the power to slam off. Roxas wasn't four years old, so all he did was blink his eyes back into focus, but that didn't stop his muscles from tensing a bit more now that he was effectively in the dark with a man he'd rather not be in the dark with.

"What, does it offend you or something?" Another drag, the cigarette flaring back to life.

"No, I'm fine, it's just," Roxas started, leaned back and squirmed in his seat. "You're allowed to smoke on the job here? The owner doesn't get mad?"

"This is a family business."

"And?"

"_And_, my dad doesn't give a shit if I smoke in here, long as there aren't gonna be any customers. Spray a little Febreeze before I head out and it'll be gone by tomorrow." He waved the cigarette toward the door. "I really don't think anyone's going to be looking for a haircut today, you know? Thought I'd have the whole place to myself when the storm started picking up, but"—quick head tilt in Roxas's direction—"that didn't exactly pan out."

Roxas frowned and dropped his eyes to the floor. "Sorry."

"No, it's no problem. I was just gonna be sitting in the back the whole time anyway. Hell, now I've got someone to keep me entertained, right?"

Did he have to word _everything_ like that?

"Hey." Axel blinked, and the leer left his voice in an instant when the sound of Roxas's anxious foot tapping filled the room. He reached a hand forward, jerked it back, and his lips were pulled down in the corners when the lightning gave enough light to see. "You okay, Roxas?"

No, he wasn't okay. His clothes were soaked through and sticking tight to every inch of skin, the man across from him seemed to only speak in innuendos, and God knew how long it would be before the storm would lighten up enough that he could _leave._ He wasn't okay. The words were right there on his tongue.

"I'm just cold." And wet, but he kept his mouth shut.

Axel did not need that kind of ammo.

"Hey, I told you that you could use the blow dryer," he said, sounding faintly offended. "Should've taken up the offer before the power blew."

Roxas bristled. "Yeah. I remember, you gave me that lovely little invitation to just go ahead and _blow myself off_." His trembling fingers clawed into the material of his jacket, and he bared his teeth at the floor.

"Christ, you're sensitive."

"There's a difference between being sensitive and having some actual intelligence."

"Come on, kid. You're in, what, tenth grade? And you can't take a joke?"

The chair's metal legs scraped against the floor as Roxas lurched to his feet. "I'm eighteen years old, asshole! That's not the fucking _problem!_"

He stood like that, fists clenched and body quaking from the cold, just listening to the rain beat down on the roof for a good few minutes. Listening to Axel go quiet, crush his cigarette out on something—the armchair, maybe—rustle as he stood. And then something soft and heavy was smacking Roxas in the face, his hands snapping up to grab it away.

"You know, there's nothing keeping you here." Muttered so low that Roxas had to strain to hear the words.

He slowly sat back down and waited for the man to turn his back before scrubbing the towel through his hair and over his skin, not daring to let the relief show on his face.

Axel walked around the back corner without another word. Roxas slouched back down, draping the cloth over his shoulders and trying to halt the shivers that jolted through him.

"You're right."

* * *

The towel smelled like smoke. Not even in that dull way, the way that some things carried tiny traces of the smell after being in a room with a lit cigarette for a while. This thing _reeked_ of it.

Roxas wasn't entirely sure why he held onto it after he left the salon, a good half hour after Axel walked away. The rain had lessened up to a light drizzle by then, acceptable enough for Roxas to stomp out without worrying about drowning when he breathed, but he kept the towel secured around his shoulders the rest of the way home. Maybe it was that latent urge to show…_something_ to Axel. That he owed Roxas for acting like an absolute creep after knowing him for less than two hours.

In any case, he had come home to an empty house—usual—and immediately taken the hottest shower he could bear, trying to force away the chill in his bones and the stench wreathed around his neck. (It didn't work; even after an unhealthy amount of soap he could still smell it on himself.) He dumped his clothes and the towel in the wash and started it up as soon as he got out, because the fewer questions, the better.

Damn if that thing didn't smell any better a good cycle later. Apparently detergent didn't take too well to cigarette smoke.

He was in the middle of an assigned reading, eyes glazing over but doing their best to understand just what Homer was going on about, when he heard distinctively heavy steps padding toward his door. Sora poked his head in a moment later and opened his mouth to speak, appeared to lose his train of thought and crinkled up his nose instead.

"_Jeez_, Rox, what've you been _doing_ in here?"

"Look, it's not mine, okay?"

Sora didn't look convinced. He pushed the door open a bit wider and slipped in, sneakers scuffing against the floor as he launched himself onto Roxas's bed. College kid his ass; Sora turned into a ten-year-old the moment he walked through the front door.

"Whose is it then?" he went on after a moment. "I didn't know you hung around anyone who smoked. Especially not _that_ badly."

"It's nothing." Roxas hunched back over the desk and marked a line on the page.

A moment of silence, stretched out long enough for the bed to start creaking with fidgety movement.

"Do I need to be worried about something?"

Hearing such a low, serious voice come out of Sora was unnerving enough—paired with his words, Roxas couldn't help but stiffen in his seat. He needed to get this done and forgotten with, anything to change that tone back. That voice was wrong.

He exhaled through his teeth and angled his head, looking his brother over with one eye. "No, Sora, there's nothing you need to be worried about. Something came up, I handled it, it's over now."

"Can't be any more specific, can ya?"

Face-to-face now. "I don't need to be. I'm not getting high in the bathrooms, and I'm not shooting up in the alley, so you don't need to play Mom and get on me for not telling you every little detail."

Sora propped himself up, eyebrows drawn together. "It was just a question, Rox." In that same dead mumble.

"I got caught in that storm, I found a place to wait it out, I wound up taking home this towel that fuckin' reeks. Question answered."

Eighteen years was more than enough time to get used to Roxas's brashness—Sora's eyes immediately widened and the sunlight caught in them, glinting off the blue. "You got _caught_ in that?" he echoed, pulling a knee up against his chest. "I thought you got home before it hit! Why didn't you just call me?"

"Because you were across town and I didn't feel like standing under some ledge trying to find you." And because the thought really hadn't occurred to him at the time, and because lightning was a hell of a motivator to get inside.

"So then where'd you go?"

"Just, you know," Roxas mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, "one of those little no-name stores. The ones you don't even notice until you're standing in front of them." _Please don't push it._

Finally, Sora seemed to get it. "Nice of 'em to let you stay. _And _give you something to dry off with. Even if it could have been, ah, a little more pleasant." A little grin had slipped onto his face, and that was a relief, since—

Yeah, it _had_ been nice of Axel to give him a roof over his head, seeing as he'd been tracking water all over his floor and everything, and it _was_ nice of Axel to actually give Roxas something instead of just letting him shiver the whole time. It would have been even better if the guy had any sense of decency whatsoever.

But the less he knew about Axel, the better, so Roxas just nodded and forced a small smile in return.

Sora slid off of the bed and brushed by, nudging Roxas's shoulder as he passed. "You should go give it back to them soon," he said. "It really is stinking up the place."

He might have a point, there.

* * *

He _definitely_ had a point there.

Warning number one came in the form of a writhing in his gut that Sora _must_ have known would be there. His brother knew how to swing his words around, say something in a hushed tone that bounced around in Roxas's head until it drove him mad.

And there were some things you just should not get used to after less than a week. Roxas was pretty sure cigarette smoke was one of them, so the realization that struck right as he was falling asleep—a couple nights _after_ he had stopped screwing his face up whenever he went in his room—that this had already become a familiar smell sent him bolt upright in bed. Oh, yeah. It had to go.

He had just kind of…forgotten that it was in there, balled up in a corner. That was warning number two.

It was also why he ended up standing in front of the salon again, on a Saturday, when he could be doing any number of things infinitely more gratifying than this. He had to have some justification for going back, see, because Sora would never let Roxas live it down if it looked like he had gone soft—seeing as the situation basically boiled down to him yelling at a stranger and then taking his stuff.

Somehow, the building was even less impressive when he could actually see it. Just a wall of beige brick with a few stores lumped together, the only sign that they were separate establishments being the spaced-apart doors. And—yep, there it was, the signature little red _Salon_ sign hung up on the front.

Too bad the builders' budget didn't extend to providing drop boxes. That would have made this a lot easier.

Roxas drew a breath through his teeth and pushed the door open.

"I'll be right there!" echoed around the corner again. Axel strode out, hands and eyes occupied with jotting something down on a little notepad. "What can I do for—"

He blinked several times, fast, and let out a breathy, "Oh, hi." Peered out the door over Roxas's shoulder and back to him, like he was wondering where the storm was. "You get lost or something?"

"No, I came here on purpose," Roxas replied, leaning against the wall.

"_Why?_" It didn't come out rude so much as baffled. A second later that stupidly smug look was working its way onto Axel's face, tugging up a corner of his mouth. "Miss me?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I just came to give this back." He tossed the balled up towel over, mentally fist pumping when Axel scrambled to catch it.

And then…he was giving Roxas an odd look, and a sick feeling started up in his stomach. "Do you chain smoke on that thing or something?" he muttered, hoping to change the eerily focused gaze into something easier to dismiss.

"Why would I do that to work equipment? It was sitting right next to me the other day when you were here, probably just picked up the smell from then."

"I can't get the damn smell out of my room."

Christ, _this_ face was even worse. Calculating looks were better than shit-eating ones any day. "You kept it in your room?"

"I mean, I—"

"What, were you pining over it? Maybe feeling a little regret?" He drug the words out to insane lengths.

Roxas's face burned. "Absolutely not."

Axel made a humming noise, still smiling.

"Don't you have a job to do or something?"

He spread his arms out in a grand gesture. "Of course," he said, waving toward the empty chairs. "You caught me at my busiest hour."

"You're incredible." There wasn't anything keeping him here now, so maybe he could get out not before something started. Roxas turned and wrapped his hand around the doorknob—

"What, and that's it?" Axel's voice rang out, and then he was standing next to Roxas with an arm against the wall, eyes narrowed. "Just came to throw my stuff back at my face and leave?"

"What else do you _want_?" he hissed back.

"I dunno—an apology for screaming at me, maybe?"

He could walk away right now. Just open the door and leave and never go back, never have to look at that damn red eyeliner and those damn tattoos again. He could just walk out and leave Axel to seethe and go home to scream his frustrations into his mattress. All these _could_s.

"When I was caught out in the rain," he started, "I really couldn't see for shit—you weren't out in it, you have no clue. So I just kind of found some buildings the way I was going and figured, hey, maybe one of 'em won't mind if I stay for a little bit before I wind up walking into the street and getting run over."

Axel was shaking his head and Roxas could almost see him trying to slot together the response with his question.

"That building—all I saw was this huge neon _Tattoo_ sign, and the door down from it didn't have any signs or anything, but I'd take not knowing what I was going into than staying in some sketchy-ass tattoo place. Turns out," he mused, "that in some places, you can get a haircut and then immediately go get inked up afterward. How convenient."

"You're gonna have to give me something to go on, Roxas," Axel murmured. "I have absolutely no idea what you're saying."

"I'm _saying_, I came in here expecting to wait for a little bit and then leave. _Not_ for some guy to start making passes like I'm just piece of ass to ogle over because he can't keep it in his pants. So no, I'm not going to apologize, because I'm not a fucking _moron._" His voice had gotten louder the longer he'd been speaking, and when it dropped off, the quiet in the room was almost too much.

Axel took a couple minutes to…well, do much of anything. He just stood there and took it and when Roxas had finished his tirade, he leaned his cheek against the wall. Blank face, taking in every word and rolling them around in his mind; Roxas could see it in the way Axel's eyes flitted back and forth over his own.

The quiet contemplation was almost unnerving. He needed to snarl back or get that sharpness in his eyes, the kind that made them look like poison; that was what he was supposed to do.

So why wasn't he?

"I'm not going to apologize," he repeated, softer but firm, because maybe the words themselves needed to be the trigger.

"You said that you're home alone late, right?"

"Excuse me?" _Where the hell did that come from?_

"The other day. You said your family doesn't back until late after you get home, didn't you?" There was something off about his expression that had Roxas's muscles tensing to run. Axel seemed to notice and snorted. "No, it's nothing like that. You're reading into everything I say, maybe that's why you're so riled up. What I mean is," he said, "you should come over sometime. After school."

…What?

"You are out of your goddamned mind." Roxas didn't even mean anything by that, it was just an—observation, of some sort. Pure wonder.

Axel tilted his head and tugged at a piercing, chuckling. "You've got this fire," he explained. "Like you're so tough, but then you come back here after getting all pissed off just so you can return my _towel._ You really could have just thrown it out, thing only cost like three bucks."

Roxas's attempt to retort was cut off. "I've got a little back room, if you want," Axel offered, small smile—was that supposed to look hopeful? "Business is a little, ah, slow around here. It'd be a lot nicer to have someone to talk to rather than just sitting back there twiddling my thumbs, right?"

He was supposed to be serious? "I don't even know you."

"Yeah, see, that's the thing—you usually have to talk to people to get to know them." Axel dragged a hand through his hair and down his neck. "It really was a joke, Roxas," he murmured. "You didn't look like the kind of guy who'd be all that bothered. High school kid with a scowl like the world owes you one, I figured you'd have tougher skin."

"Insulting me isn't very persuasive," Roxas said, raising a brow behind his bangs. He swallowed, because Axel had a point there. "If you can go five minutes without making some cute little implication, maybe." At Axel's alarmingly bright quirk—"Don't hold your breath."

At any rate, the redhead had a grin on his face again, and whether or not that was something to be afraid of he wasn't sure yet. He threw Roxas a two-fingered salute and sauntered back behind the counter with confidence practically warping the air around him.

It occurred to Roxas a whole two street blocks later, and he had to backpedal so that he didn't walk in front of a car when it did, that he had just agreed to something that was sickeningly close to being a date.

"Shit," he coughed, and the driver honked at him.

* * *

He really wasn't sure if it was masochism or just sick fascination that drove him at this point, but one way or the other, he was standing in front of the stupid glass door for the third time in one week and that could not be healthy.

It was all Axel's fault, really. Even if Roxas was the one actually making the choice to do this; he was absolutely in the right. If he wasn't the one to inspect how on earth someone could sit in a tiny salon for eight hours without doing anything and _not_ have developed at least five different forms of ADHD, who would? The professionals weren't qualified. Maybe what he needed was a blond teenager with no job to just observe for a while.

That and the fact that this guy's personality was so hot-and-cold there had to be something behind it. Some reason.

Axel was too many smiles too soon when he walked in, peeping his head out from the mysterious back room to see if it was worth to effort to walk to the front. His hair was actually tamed today, pulled back in a ponytail that only furthered Roxas's fears about this being something he hadn't signed up for.

"Are you the only employee here?" he asked as he was led back. "I thought you said something about your dad working?"

"He's more the owner than a worker," Axel replied with a shrug. "Stays home most of the time to do the paperwork for this, works another job, that kind of stuff. I'm usually the one out on the floor."

The back room was about what Roxas had expected for a building as small as this. A few chairs near the little wooden desk off to the side, topped with a laptop, a cup of coffee, a few sheets of papers—a poor plant that didn't seem to appreciate second-hand smoke. Bulletin board with some printed pages tacked to it on the wall. Beige walls to match the brick outside. It was all so _normal_. It fit the image of the man Roxas had pictured when he heard Axel's voice the first time, that nine-to-five guy with stubble and a receding hairline, not the actual thing.

The first words out of his mouth were almost "You sure this is it?", but he managed an interested face and nodded. "Nice."

"Don't hold back the compliments for my sake." Axel brushed by and sat against the desk, crossing his arms, eyes darting to the side a second later. "You can just set up wherever you want, I guess. I've got some stuff to do."

"Actual work?"

"Someone's gotta pay the bills. I don't just sit back here jerking off all day—ah, sorry."

Roxas snorted and dropped his backpack to the floor. "You don't need to handle me like I'm a kid, Axel, I can take it."

Axel squinted. Shit, innuendos were contagious.

"I mean," he mumbled, clearing his throat. He shuffled away and dropped down into the chair opposite the desk, trying to beat down the squirming in his stomach, Axel snickering at the entire awkward display. "You know."

"Absolutely." Grinned as he settled behind the laptop and started tapping away.

Roxas was wondering why he was even here when he closed his book half an hour or so later. If he was just going to be doing homework in silence—well, as much silence as there could be with that obnoxious tapping—what was the point of doing it here and not at home? But every now and then Axel would glance over, face clear and relaxed, and maybe he just didn't want to be alone.

Maybe that thought Roxas had earlier about losing your mind in a room for hours on end wasn't so far off the mark.

Now that he was aware of the quiet, of course it started rearing up and winding around him, pulling at his legs to fidget. He needed _noise_, he was just sitting there with nothing but way too personal curiosities and books that were barely understandable on his lap—

"Are you in college?" It was all he could think of.

Axel's head jerked up. "Huh? College?" His mouth tugged down a bit, eyebrows following suit. "In case you haven't noticed, Roxas, I give people _haircuts._ College wasn't exactly in the script." Gestured at an empty wall, like the lack of some framed diploma proved his point. "When your dad can give you a job right out of school, it's not really necessary."

"So you just decided to settle for that instead of going to look for something else?" He figured he was walking a thin line, here, but the words were filling the space and it was better than nothing.

An affirmative hum sounded from behind the desk. "Your turn," Axel said. At Roxas's confusion, he tilted his head. "You're in high school, right? Senior? What are you planning for afterward?"

Roxas licked his lips and drew a foot up onto the chair. "I'm still trying to figure it out. My mom, she works double shifts a lot to help pay for So—for my brother to go to college. And I'd go, too, but I don't know if we could afford it. Nobody's really hiring around here."

"Your dad have his hands full, too?"

"He hasn't been in the picture since we were kids."

"Sorry." And there it was again, that uncomfortable silence. Boy, this was _not_ what Roxas had imagined it would be.

"It doesn't even matter. What—what are you doing over there, anyway?"

Axel was more than grateful for the subject change. "Advertisement," he said, falling back into that usual smirk. "Trying to get in touch with some local papers about getting an ad in, because we are getting fuck-all business lately. Everyone goes to the big name places, they don't even see us."

"Took a storm," Roxas muttered to himself, but Axel laughed.

"Exactly. I can't just have people coming in here to get out of the rain and not even buy anything. We're not a hangout—well, we didn't used to be."

"You're the one—"

A sharp noise cut him off and it took a couple seconds to process it, but Axel was already on his feet. "Customer," he explained, and strode out to the front, a smile carefully fixed in place.

It looked nothing like the one he wore in front of Roxas.

His greeting immediately echoed back into the room, and after a garbled response, Axel's voice shifted so dramatically that Roxas couldn't pick up the words at all. It took a minute to realize that he had switched to speaking Spanish in about a second flat, and fluently from the sound of it. Hunh.

Roxas had opted for French in school and couldn't understand a lick of the conversation, but it was cheery, and punctuated with enough laughter for him to know it was going well. Which—while the circumstances were completely different—was a bit odd to hear, since pretty much all of his exchanges with Axel had involved one snapping at the other at some point.

It must have been a small job, because ten minutes later Axel was calling out goodbyes and padding back around the corner.

"You're bilingual?"

The question visibly caught him off guard. "Yeah?" he offered. "It helps with customers. I'm pretty damn rough at it, but—"

"It sounded really nice to me."

Axel was giving him an odd look, eyes moving back and forth, back and forth over Roxas's face. And even then it took a minute to sink in.

"I should get going."

"Are you coming back?" Axel asked, watching him stuff everything into his backpack and sling it over his shoulder, head ducked and a curtain of blond masking his face.

It went against his better judgment. Against everything in him screaming that this couldn't get any more awkward, any more embarrassing.

"Yeah," he said.

* * *

Axel was actually a pretty cool guy. Aside from the smoking.

It was surprisingly easy to fall out of the old routine and into this new one, going a few buildings past where he used to turn and heading inside without pause. He'd vaguely memorized the way after stumbling inside that first time in the storm, but somehow it only took a week for Roxas to find himself standing in front of the door without even thinking, his mouth slipping into a small smile at the chime.

After a few days there was another cup on the desk, set toward the edge near Roxas's space. "I don't know if you even like coffee," Axel had admitted, "but I feel like an asshole when you're over there with nothing."

Roxas took a cautious sip and choked, growled that it was insane to assume any teenager drank the stuff black. There was always a heaping of sugar in his coffee after that, like an apology, every day when he came in.

Axel was…surprisingly knowledgeable about a lot of stuff that Roxas wouldn't have pegged him for. And he said that it all just came from those clients who wouldn't shut up, that he ended up learning a lot from people who expected to see him once and be done with it—the salon's resident prostitute, Axel joked—but he could spot calculus errors in a heartbeat and you didn't pick that up from middle-aged women. Sometimes Roxas wondered how far he could have gone if he wasn't tied down to this place.

Customers didn't come around too often, but when they did, it was usually when they were in the middle of a conversation. Axel would flash a half-smile and Roxas would huff because he lost his train of thought, but he didn't have any right to be angry because, well, he _was_ kind of distracting him from his job. It was still irritating.

He didn't really pick up on it for a few weeks, but Axel didn't talk to the customers the way he did to Roxas. It was subtle; really subtle, but there. His jokes weren't as brazen and familiar, because he didn't know where other people drew their lines. He picked his words more carefully with those older than him, either out of respect or just out of trying not to sound as unconventional as he looked. Testing the waters with every person, so careful not to give off the wrong impression—Roxas wasn't sure if he had always been like that, or if the cautiousness started after he began coming around.

His laugh wasn't as real with them.

There was a thought, there, that he liked it that way. He liked that Axel could roll with the punches and not give a shit about his curt tone, just come back with some retort but smile when he did so. The innuendo and implication had stopped bothering him because it was just so _Axel_ that talking felt artificial without it. And yes, it must have been contagious, because Roxas found himself returning those jabs without even realizing.

Somewhere along the way he learned how to read the little emotions that played over Axel's face, the difference between a raw grin and one soft around the edges, teasing. The quirk of his lips when he was spoiling to take words the wrong way. The way his eyes widened ever so slightly when he was listening to Roxas in rapt attention.

He knew those looks, and they scared him because he knew Axel was seeing them in him, too.

Right now, though…now he was just glaring down at the laptop like it had spat on him. Nothing subtle about it.

"It's not gonna bake you a cake and beg forgiveness, Ax," Roxas muttered, glancing up from his work and tapping the pencil against the paper. "Best just to accept it and move on."

"And you would know all about that, wouldn't you? Let me guess, there are plenty of other computers in the sea?"

"Maybe that's the problem, you're getting them half-drowned. What is it?"

Axel growled and leaned back, stretching his arms back around his head. "Been going back and forth with this fucking paper publisher that just jumped its price for ads without telling me. I would've just dropped them if I'd known, but now they're saying they get to keep the extra money; thing is, I'm pretty sure I need that for, you know, _food_."

Roxas opened his mouth—"Don't even ask me if I've told them that, it was the first thing I said." And again—"Yes, I'm sure they understood me. Little shit on the other side just won't take no for an answer."

To add to the list of interruptions, because why not, someone chose that moment to stroll inside and send the little bell off. Axel obediently stood to leave, throwing the laptop a don't-think-this-is-over sort of sneer over his shoulder, and composed himself into that pleasant and perfect employee he was expected to be in a blink. The control he had was admirable.

The problem was, he had left behind an empty desk, a screen open for anyone to see, and a very frustrated Roxas who could _not_ seem to get a word out.

So, he figured, why even try to get a word out in the first place?

There was something inherently wrong about sifting through someone else's computer, and he knew that, but kept the thought that he wasn't going to do anything harmful at the front of his mind. And it wasn't as though he planned on snooping through every document; just the argument Axel was so riled up about. If he was just going to brush off any of Roxas's attempts to help and then complain about it afterward, to hell with it.

The conversation between him and the publisher started out…civil enough. Just a notice that Axel had seen the price jump and wanted the extra back so he could pull the ad. The more emails that passed between them, though—and there was a list—the more he could read anger into the words. He was just running in circles and running out of temper to hold.

Roxas kept one of the messages open, the one Axel was spitting at composing now, and flipped over to it again once he'd read both sides.

Axel was either going to love him for this, he thought as his fingers hovered over the keys, or throw his ass on the street.

The appointment outside took a good amount of time, around twenty minutes, long enough for Roxas to summon up as much of composition class his memory could offer and get his words down, rough, onto the screen. It wasn't professional and it wasn't as knowledgeable—hell, it wasn't his business, but he combed through the argument and laid out the facts and demands as well as he could. If he could just clean it up a bit and pray he wasn't skinned alive for meddling, maybe—

"What are you doing?"

_Shit._

His face had lurched down automatically, hair falling forward to obscure his face, shoulders tensed because he knew he'd fucked up when he heard that accusing tone. He knew Axel was leaning against the wall, eyes burning and brows drawn down and he _knew_ what face he would be making.

"Roxas?" He could have sworn it sounded softer but that must be wishful thinking, no way he was that forgiving when he saw people messing with stuff that was so, so not their business.

And then Axel's voice rang out right above his ear. "Roxas."

"Okay, look, I swear I wasn't—"

"Uh-huh." Then he let out a little noise of surprise, and Roxas angled up a bit to catch Axel staring intently over his shoulder at the screen. "What is this?"

"You really weren't gonna get anywhere just yelling back and forth," he said, voice low and words rushing together. "So I figured, maybe it'd help if another person took a look at it, since I'm not the one caught up in it and—I didn't send anything."

A huff of breath tickled the hair against his cheek, and Axel was _way too close_. "This is good," he mumbled, like it was to himself. "You wrote this?"

"Yeah?"

"Damn. Better than I could've done."

"So you're not pissed at me?"

"No, I'm pissed at you, but now it's more of a good pissed."

Roxas was pretty sure that didn't even exist, but now wasn't the time to be arguing semantics. "The trick is getting them to see your side as what they want too," he went on. Filling the air with words was better than trying to brush it off, so much nicer to just let his mouth run and hope. "You have to set it up so that it looks like they're gonna hurt for not going along with you. It's kind of a shitty thing to do, but if worse comes to worse you could ruin their image if it got out that they screw over the advertisers. And maybe they'd be willing to go back to the normal rate if you hold them over the barrel on that. It pushes them to go along with you if they think that's their best shot."

"Blackmail?"

"I think the technical term is rhetoric."

Axel made a humming noise and let the room go quiet for a moment, two, three. Then he _tsk_ed and leaned away, gripping the edge of the desk. "I wish I could actually see your face when you do that."

Roxas jumped, looked sideways through his bangs. He must have seemed confused enough, because Axel just ran a hand through his hair—worn down and chaotic, today—and shook his head at nothing in particular.

"Sometimes you just start talking about stuff like this, and you get really into it, so I can tell it really means something to you. And you talk faster and faster and you start moving around—fidgeting, or something, but I'm trying to see what you _look_ like, and I can't because your fucking _hair covers your face._"

Slow pull of breath. "I can't even see you half the time."

Roxas opened his mouth to say something, stuttered to a halt because Axel's fingers were winding through his hair, now, brushing it back and curling tight in it. A moment later he was tucking the blond strands behind his ear and slowly dragging down, hovering against the downy hairs on the nape of his neck a little too long before pulling away.

It was so hard not to shiver.

Or reach back and punch him right in the jaw.

He wanted to just—shake his head out, and snarl, and inform Axel that if he had any plans of being within a 50 yard radius of him again without handcuffs, he might want to start backtracking right about now.

But Axel just leaned back with the corner of his mouth tugged up, completely nonchalant.

"You—" Roxas cleared his throat. "_The fuck?_" His words came out embarrassingly low, and cracked, but it was all he could manage.

"I've been wanting to do that for ages. Why do you hide your face like that all the time?" His voice softened into an almost unbearable murmur, puffed against his cheek when he spoke. "You've got beautiful eyes, Rox. You should show them off."

Rox—_beautiful_—

"Axel, I," he choked out, "I _can't_."

"What do you mean, you can't? It's not that hard to get it cut, you good like this—"

Roxas pushed away and rushed over to the doorframe, shaking his head. A lock of hair slipped back into place. "No, it's not that…I just, I can't do _this._ What are we, Axel?"

The man's eyes slipped into green slits. "Friends, I hope."

"Yeah, friends, which means that this—_beautiful_ stuff, and the looks, and the touching…" His hands were shaking. "I really need to go. Sora's going to be wondering where I am."

"This is the second time," Axel said, and it was low enough that Roxas wasn't sure he heard right. Louder, "The second time you've run off because of something you've said, or I've said. You freak out over stuff like that but then you keep coming back to me, and I just need to know, Rox—what are you trying to tell me here?"

Roxas swallowed.

"That I need to think."

Axel let him go.

* * *

"What's wrong?"

Roxas sighed at the ceiling and let his arm slip off from his face. "What makes you think something's wrong."

Sora sank onto the far end of the bed and shot him a look. "Don't even pretend. Is it school? Girl troubles?" Pause. "…Boy troubles?"

"Look," he growled. "I don't care if you're with Riku—"

"That wasn't a no," Sora retorted. "I've lived with you my whole life, you think I haven't noticed anything? You think I'm in any position to judge? You have to _talk_ to me, Rox. Don't shut me out just because you're having a fit over some guy."

"I'm not having a fit," Roxas mumbled, because he wasn't going to take this lying down, dammit.

"Do I know him?"

"I doubt it."

His brother let out a noise of success and smirked at him. "Spill."

What could he say? _He never went to college, works at a hair salon that's barely getting by, four—maybe five—years older than me, bright red hair that _can't_ be natural, eyeliner that's really fucking weird but it brings out his eyes so much…_

_He makes me smile._

What he actually said was more to the tune of, "His name's Axel. He doesn't go to my school."

"Really?" Sora asked, surprised. He'd flopped onto his back by this point, head turned enough to fix Roxas with a blue stare. "Then how'd you meet him?"

God, how did he answer _that_?

"Uh," was his first intelligent response. "He's out of high school"—good so far—"and he works."

"Since when do _you_ just go around town?" Sora had a point there.

"Well, um, remember when I got caught in that storm the other month? And I stayed in some place until it stopped?"

"Oh yeah, that cigarette towel. Saw someone there that caught your eye, huh?"

"He didn't _catch my eye_!" Roxas sputtered. "We just kept in touch, hung out after school. Stuff like that. He's a really cool guy."

Sora rolled onto his side and propped his head up with a palm, small smile perched on his lips. "And you think you like him?"

He couldn't keep from going red. "I don't know, Sora," he groaned. "I don't know what I'm doing. It's all just fucking complicated."

"Complicated was trying to figure out what I'm doing with the rest of my life," Sora deadpanned. "Complicated was trying to figure out how I was going to make this work when Riku decided to go out of state. How is your situation any more complicated?"

Roxas couldn't answer.

"Unless he's straight, or with someone already, or—Roxas, he had _better_ not be in some skeevy business, I swear to God—but if you've got a good thing with him, why are you so scared? If you like him, tell him. If you don't, then don't lead him on."

It felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach. _I just need to know, Rox—what are you trying to tell me here?_ He'd been teasing Axel along and then snapping in his face when he tried to actually _do_ something about it—just trying to see if Roxas was actually giving him the go-ahead.

Because he _knew_ Axel was interested, he'd known from the start. In that crude way at first, through sharp tones and sharper grins. Double meanings just beneath the words spoken over the thunder. Eyes roaming pointedly over his body. It had sickened Roxas, all of it.

And then…what had happened? Cornered animals lash out, and Axel learned from mistakes like his life depended on it. Took a step back, maybe five steps, and the apology was clear in it. Roxas gave him a chance because there was something in there that was so bizarre he couldn't leave it alone. He didn't regret it—no, because Axel was funny, and great to be around, but Roxas couldn't help but feel anxious when that initial edge had started to wear off.

Axel would beam when he walked in every day, like he'd been worried Roxas would change his mind and not show up at all. Would give him gentle looks and small smiles and it was just too soft, the way his eyes would shine when Roxas spoke. His laugh was full, and real, and Roxas _knew_ he was interested. It was terrifying to think about how highly Axel held him, how he could mean that much to someone.

The side of his face was tingling. It hadn't stopped since Axel had brushed his fingers against it.

Roxas turned his light off after Sora left, turning in early for the night. He waited until he could hear his brother's snoring from down the hall, until after his mom came home and hesitated outside of his door, until she had gone to bed and the house was silent.

He fell asleep with the pillow clenched between his teeth to muffle a scream, because he was falling and it felt like losing his mind.

* * *

Axel actually flinched when he saw Roxas come through the door, and if Roxas wasn't already feeling like a complete asshole, then that certainly did it.

"Still have nothing better to do than come around here, huh?" Joking, but his voice was dull in a way that took away any punch.

"Seems like it," Roxas replied, shifting his weight and not at all liking the way Axel's fingers were curling at his sides.

"I thought you needed to _think_."

"You can do a hell of a lot of thinking in one night."

Axel narrowed his eyes, turned his head apprehensively. "And that means?"

"Were you serious about the—the hair thing?" He tried to keep his voice from catching, failed miserably.

"The ha—yeah, I was," Axel breathed, a frown settling on his face. "But if that bothers you, you know, you don't have to do anything. It'd just be nice to actually see your eyes sometimes. To me."

Again with his eyes, and a shudder snuck down his spine. Axel must have caught something in his posture, because he huffed at the floor. "Why do you keep coming here if everything I say rubs you the wrong way, Roxas?"

"Like I said, I had to think. But," Roxas said, fidgeting, "I figured you were right. I don't know what you charge, but I've got twenty bucks—that should be enough, right?"

Axel looked thoroughly lost, so he continued with a snort, "Do your job. Or did I walk into the tattoo place by mistake?"

"You want me to cut your hair?"

"No, I came here to ask for sexual favors, Ax. Didn't you say something once about how this isn't a place for people to crash during storms? You've been putting up with me for this long, I might as well do _something_."

Axel mumbled something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like "—already do enough for me—" but then he was falling into routine, easy smile tugging his lips. This was what he did, and the familiarity was clear as he jerked his head back toward the chairs.

Fingers were threading through his hair the moment Roxas stepped forward. He froze, breath caught in his throat, but they didn't go any further—Axel almost looked like he was asking for permission, and when Roxas gave a little nod, he grinned. "You've got some nice stuff to work with here," he mused, twirling a lock. "Could do some awesome things with a little spray." He clawed Roxas's hair haphazardly to the side, and it wasn't perfect, but a small part of him had to admit that the windswept look wasn't half bad.

The rest was trying to cope with that fact that Axel was playing with his hair and so _close_—

Axel noticed this at about the same time and swiveled, stiffly working his way to the back, where a couple of the sink-chair stations were set up. He motioned for Roxas to sit, reached out his hand to grab something, rethought that, and vanished for a moment before reappearing with a towel. He just flitted back and forth above Roxas, hands reaching and pulling back, and the whole effect was pretty damn ridiculous.

"Should I trust you near my head with any sharp objects?" Roxas asked, and he was only half serious.

"You know how you can go through a class with flying colors, and know all the material, and when you sit down for the final exam you still feel like someone just dropped you off in a foreign country?" Axel laughed, a weak sound.

"Yeah, and I really don't see why it's bothering you so much."

"It bothers me because you're _Roxas_, and I'd rather not _fuck up._"

He said the name with way too much importance, like he was talking about a painting in an art gallery—too much weight behind it.

"Whatever," Roxas mumbled, squirming as the towel and a lighter cloth were draped over his shoulders, Axel lightly pushing his shoulders down until he was leaning back. Thankfully, they didn't have the smokiness on them, because the last thing he needed was Axel's fingers in his hair and the familiar scent strong in his face at the same time.

"So what were you thinking about getting done?" The water switched on and ran warm, pleasant, over Roxas's scalp.

"That style you did earlier," he hummed. "All swept to the side—that looked good. I don't know, do whatever you like. Something to show off my eyes, huh?"

Axel was silent for a bit, then broke the quiet rushing of water with a little laugh. "Whatever I want? And what if that happens to involve, I don't know, shaving half of it off?"

"See how far that gets you," Roxas chirped back. "You won't try anything stupid; you want me to come back, after all. That's all the assurance I need."

"Damn you." But he snickered it, rustled around for a minute, slick noises as he poured shampoo or some kind of conditioner into his hands. And then—

_Fuck_.

He'd had this done before, many times; getting a quick hair wash before it was cut was not, not, not weird, it was procedure.

So how the _hell_ could he be this _aware_ of it?

It was like every nerve was hypersensitive to the touch, bristling when Axel made contact. Roxas didn't realize his whole body had stiffened until he felt his hands ache from tensing against the chair arms, and the motion against his head paused.

"You're gonna hurt yourself," Axel murmured. "Relax, Rox." He followed up with a wonderful contradiction by scraping his index fingers behind Roxas's ears, and he was pretty sure that wasn't a part of the routine.

Relax. Sure.

He exhaled through his mouth and tried—forced—his muscles to uncoil, to sink back and just trust Axel with this one. Just repeated the mantra of _this is his job, this is what he's trained to do_ over and over in his mind but damn if it didn't feel intimate anyway.

It felt _good_. Axel had this down to a science, rehearsed patterns running through Roxas's hair, finding every inch and doting on it until he was satisfied. He knew how to make a client happy, for tips or maybe just because, even if Roxas had the suspicion that this was a different work than he would do with a random customer.

His nails scratched against a particularly sensitive spot to the side, and that—that sent shivers down Roxas's entire body, made his teeth bite down on the inside of his cheek. The bastard obviously noticed his response and set to work trying to make him do it again, nails working his entire scalp and lingering far too long in the areas that made Roxas tense up.

He knew what he was doing.

There was a fleeting thought, somewhere, that if more people knew how incredible Axel was at this then the shop would be full. Fleeting, because in the next minute another wave was shuddering down his skin, and by this point he was certain, without a conceivable doubt, that Axel was doing it on purpose.

Maybe there was something in this after all, Roxas mused, closing his eyes. Maybe Axel was right to be frustrated at the signal swings and maybe Sora was right when he said that he needed to go for it or break it off. It was effortless like this, blissful as he was, to pretend it was as easy as that. That he could ignore the fact that he had no clue where he'd be once he graduated, if he'd have to deal with that like Sora was with Riku, how this was going to work out when Axel was old enough to be marrying someone else anyway. So easy to just imagine pulling Axel down and capturing those lips with his own.

He really shouldn't entertain the idea, he knew that, but the massage through his hair had slowed to something tender and the dreamscape in his mind wanted to go on past stealing that kiss. Moving on to quiet afternoons, walking into the salon and winding his hands into the red, curious if Axel's hair felt as rough as it looked. Staying in the back, alternately shoving Axel out and tugging him back when a customer came in, until the amber tint had long since left the air, because his family wouldn't be home until night.

He needed to stop thinking about it.

Maybe he could afford himself one fantasy, but it was putting all these images and sensations into his mind and he didn't want to stop, didn't know if he could. Graduation, sitting down with piles of college flyers and Axel making remarks about all of them. Roxas retorting that he wouldn't know anything about college anyway, sneering when he got lectured in response but laughing just the same. Finding out whether or not Axel's apartment really was some shithole in the middle of nowhere or if he had exaggerated—of course he had, he wasn't the kind of person to go singing the praises of rent costs and water bills. But it was a home and it was private. That's why he needed to stop.

He needed to stop because the longer he sat there, the more reminiscent it became of early morning showers, slow, lazy—fingers brushing through his hair that didn't belong to him.

The motion against his scalp faltered, and the moment Roxas realized what happened, he slapped a hand over his mouth, entire body going rigid with embarrassment.

He didn't mean to moan.

_Shit. _Roxas didn't keep a tally of the times he'd been mortified, or blushing, or both, but he didn't even need one to know that this had shot its way to the top._ Shit._

Axel was still for a good minute before he pulled his hands back and rinsed the last of the suds out. Quiet for a few more minutes as he cleaned up, directing Roxas to a chair by one of the mirrors with a thumb jerk.

Roxas didn't miss the fact that Axel's face was just as red as his own.

The rest of the procedure held that silent, uncomfortable air, stretching longer and heavier, stagnating, until Roxas had to remind himself not to fidget. Axel was running on autopilot, circling the chair, measuring out lengths of hair with steady fingers, quick snip and moving on to the next one. Doubling back in some areas until he was happy with it, always with that leveled, careful focus. He didn't offer up any sort of conversation, and neither did Roxas—so outside of how appointments would normally go, but for the better, because Roxas was pretty sure that no matter what he _wanted_ to say, the only thing that would come out would be "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," which was a lie. So he kept his mouth shut.

He looked up a few times and caught Axel watching him through the mirror, eyes narrowed like he was trying to judge a hundred things at once. Then the green would dart away, to the side or down, and he would dutifully go back to letting the space around them twist. Somehow it always came to this, it seemed. All these words hanging in the air, dangling right there in front of their faces, but laced with thorns; grabbing them meant tearing open something they couldn't judge the depth of.

He didn't know how much time passed—hours, felt like, but after some measure Axel leaned back and stared at him with a rehearsed sort of smugness, job well done. Ran his hand through Roxas's hair and fluffed the bangs out to the side.

"Beautiful," he whispered, but Roxas couldn't be sure.

It was—well, he wouldn't have said _beautiful, _because that word made him think of Axel and his compliments and the something squirming in his gut—but he'd done a damn good job.

Roxas might have had it styled like this once upon a time, before high school and caring about keeping up with appearances, because a guy who spent time fixing his hair was someone to gawk at. Might have, because there was a twinge of nostalgia there.

"I like it," he said. It was incomplete, needed product of some sort to give it sense and direction, but for coming from a guy Roxas had just, well, _moaned_ at, it was perfect. Framed his cheeks and drew attention to his eyes—

Axel laughed, and whether it was at the slight coloring of his cheeks or his poor attempt at a casual tone was up in the air, but Roxas couldn't help but grin in response. "I do best when people tell me to do whatever I want," Axel explained. "Artistic liberty and all that."

Roxas made a show of looking him up and down with an eyebrow quirked, the mess he called hair and the piercings and tattoos, glad that they were finally past that silence. "That what you tell yourself when you look in the mirror every morning?"

"It's called _individuality_."

"Uh-huh."

"Hey, it's kept you coming back, hasn't it?" He cackled and whipped around, heading toward the front counter. After a moment, "Get your ass over here, you owe me."

Roxas padded over, foot slipping on a few locks of blond littering the floor—Axel was probably having the time of his life hearing him scramble to catch himself—and tossed a crumpled twenty onto the counter.

"Nice to know how highly you hold me, Rox."

"Service with a smile, _Ax._"

Axel hummed and snatched the paper that came spitting out of the register, paused for a moment with it held out in front of him, teeth biting at his lower lip like some thought had just occurred to him. He pulled it out of sight and started frantically doing…something with it, but he kept his eyes down and hands moving the whole time.

Roxas was about to ask what the hell he was doing, if he'd spontaneously taken up origami or something equally as unnecessary, when the paper was shoved in front of him, folded in on itself so that he was reminded of that paper football game in middle school, not-so-accidentally flicking paper at people's eyes rather than between their fingers. The fact that his guess wasn't too far off the mark had to earn him some points, but Axel kept his fingers tense over the paper for far too long before he drew away.

"I don't need a receipt." Not with that bizarre little display.

Axel held a steady gaze at the wall just past Roxas's right shoulder. "Take it."

"I said—"

"Please?"

There was something in his tone that was too nervous. This whole thing was off.

Roxas pocketed the paper and left with a hand half-raised in acknowledgement, not wanting to ask why Axel was shifting from foot to foot like he was standing on coals.

The thought had occurred for him to go into the back room for a couple more hours. It was there and then gone, because there was no way he could slip back into that easiness today, not when the air was prickling and Axel was acting weird and Roxas's skin was still buzzing from those goddamn fingers in his hair.

This was the first time in weeks that he'd left so early, the sun still hanging high and bright, not even a tinge of dusk, Roxas realized. The paper weighed like an anvil in his pocket the entire walk back, and he would have opened it up before he got home, but he'd almost gotten run over by a car once thanks to this asshole and there were too many uneasy feelings filling his gut about this to chance it.

Sora wasn't home. His mom wasn't home. Perfect.

Roxas, because he was in a state of gnawing discomfort and fervent denial, settled down with his reading and left the receipt on his desk. He glanced over at it from his spot on the bed every few minutes, but he knew—he just knew that something was written on it. It was Pandora's box, really, so tempting, but God knew what would happen if he opened it. Something would change.

He managed half an hour before his frayed nerves threw him onto his feet and across the room.

Unfolding it piece by piece felt too much like defusing a bomb, so Roxas just pulled it open and slammed a hand down to smooth out the paper, breath held in his throat.

Underneath the general date, time, purchase list was writing, loose and jagged, looped into something, a message, that vaguely looked like—

Phone number. Not the store's.

_Got it memorized?_

* * *

"You're really bad at romance."

Axel sniffed, looking offended. "Like you're any better?" Lifted his head from the papers littering the front desk and faltered, visibly, fingers gripping the edge.

With the attention fully on him, Roxas ducked a bit, but the hair he used to shelter behind was gone, gone, gone. That was his choice, the same as his choice to take the unfinished style and groom it into something complete and something that, he hoped, looked good.

Not like he was trying to impress him or anything. No matter how much his mind chided him for holding onto that belief.

"Rox?"

He knew was going to back out if Axel kept looking at him like that, all wide eyes focused on every feature, studying the careful arrangement of his hair. If he kept that soft tone in his voice. He had to _do_ it.

Roxas clenched his fists, crossed the room, and kissed Axel.

It was awkward and involved him standing too high on his toes to not be embarrassing, and Axel tasted like cigarette smoke, but Roxas kissed him through it anyway. It only took a second for the shock to wear off, Axel tugging him closer and pressing back, arms wound around Roxas's chest.

There was a tiny thought that a customer could walk in at any moment and see them like this, but Roxas happily shoved the idea off his nearest mental cliff and pulled back a bit, grinning. Axel made a disappointed sound and settled for nestling his face against the crook of Roxas's neck, nose brushing the stiffer locks of hair. He was murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like Roxas's name, over and over.

Axel's hair _was_ rough, when he ran his hands through it, but Axel hummed against his shoulder when it caught between his fingers and dropped a kiss on the corner of his jaw.

Roxas figured he could do this for a few hours, or days, maybe, just pressed close together and warm.

"You still suck at romance," he snickered. "_Got it memorized_? Come on."

"Shut up."

Roxas laughed harder.


End file.
